


Aftermath

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [10]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leagues apart in their respective realms, Legolas and Elrohir ponder the strange turn their friendship has taken. Tenth story in a series chronicling the millennia-spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
> To quote Gloromeien, one of my favorite fanfiction authors: “ _A love act does not automatically lead to real loving._ ” Even the foresight of the Firstborn cannot tell what the future holds.

Imladris, _Yavannië_ T.A. 1628  
Arwen frowned as she watched Elrohir make his way to the tributary stream by the house. Her brother had not been quite himself since his and Elladan’s return from Mirkwood. It wasn’t that he was inexplicably happy or given to bouts of unexplained pique. It was just that he seemed preoccupied a lot of the time, oftentimes oblivious of what was going on around him. 

Evidence of this was his failure earlier in the day to react when their father’s rather pompous counsellor, Merenwë, made a demeaning remark about Mirkwood’s lack of the finer luxuries one took for granted in Rivendell and the even more outrageous suggestion that rustic Wood-elves could not be expected to appreciate them anyway. 

Elrohir should have been the first to level a scathing reprimand at the advisor for he had no patience whatsoever with foolish or unwarranted utterances. To their surprise, it was Elladan who took up the cudgels for the Woodland Realm, dispensing with diplomacy in defense of their Silvan allies. A few minutes later, Elrohir had been roused from his thoughts by the indignant voice of his brother. Belatedly discovering the cause of Elladan’s ire, he’d wasted no time reducing Merenwë to pleading for their pardon and compelling the counsellor to swallow his ill-conceived opinions. 

'But that does not change the fact that he was so deep in thought, he did not hear Merenwë’s charge the first time around,' Arwen mused. 'And he has been evading my questions on the matter,' she added to herself with frustration. 'For that matter, so has Elladan. What are they hiding?' 

From her vantage point on the front porch she curiously observed him a spell longer. Then, picking up her skirts, she made to go to the younger twin. A hand on her wrist detained her. 

“Where are you headed with that fearsome expression on your face, _thel vell_?”—dear sister—Elladan grinned. “I do not envy the Elf who must deal with you in this mood.” 

Arwen smiled back and indicated their brother with a nod. 

“I had hoped to speak with Elrohir,” she said. “Methinks he is troubled by something.” 

“Troubled?" 

“And it must have something to do with your last trip to Mirkwood though he has been making it impossible for me to find out just what,” she said with a hint of exasperation. “As have you.” 

Elladan’s good humor dissipated. “Why do you think that?” 

Arwen noticed his changed demeanor and regarded him speculatively. “I have marked his behavior of late and know it for unusual,” she commented. “He seems perpetually lost in thought. I have tried to discover why but both of you seem to have taken pains to avoid enlightening me.” 

Elladan trained his eyes on his twin. Elrohir had seated himself beside the stream and was idly tossing pebbles into the swiftly running water. 

“Aye, he is preoccupied,” he admitted. At the lifting of two graceful eyebrows, he was perforce compelled to add: “And I know something of the reason for it.” 

Arwen’s frown returned. “Am I right then? It has to do with your visit to Mirkwood?” she asked. “He has been acting like this since your return.” 

Elladan hesitated, then nodded. “But I am not at liberty to tell you the cause.” 

“Why? Do _Ada a Nana_ know?”—Papa and Mama—she demanded before he could respond to the first question. Again Elladan nodded. Arwen scowled. “Yet you would keep this from me?” She huffed in indignation. “I knew it. You have deliberately kept me in the dark. How could you? I thought there were no secrets amongst us!” 

“‘Twas not our intention to leave you out, Arwen. Elrohir simply did not wish to trouble you with his problem.” 

“Indeed. Well, if you think you can conceal this from me, you are both as addle-pated as Merenwë!” 

“Arwen—” 

She ignored him and headed purposely for Elrohir. With a resigned sigh, Elladan followed. 

Elrohir noted her approach only at the last minute giving Arwen all the more reason to worry about him. Her brother was not one to be taken unawares least of all by a maiden. 

Without preamble, she sat down beside him and said, “I refuse to be the only one in the family not to know what is happening to you, brother. Tell me now or I swear I will pry it out of you word by word!” 

Elrohir stared at her, startled. He glanced up as Elladan joined them and took a seat by him. 

“She is upset that _Ada_ and _Nana_ know and she does not,” he explained. “Mayhap ‘tis time you told her. Manwë knows she will get it out of us sooner or later.” 

Elrohir stared at him then considered his sister. Arwen had pursed her lips threateningly at his continued silence. 

“What is it you wish to know?” he asked, stalling a little. 

“You know very well what, Elrohir,” she said bitingly. “You go to Mirkwood supposedly for a fortnight only, end up staying on two weeks longer than expected then return home with all the attentiveness of a want-wit! What happened? Did you quarrel with Legolas?”

“Nay, far from it.” Elrohir hesitated but seeing the warning glint in her eyes, he quietly said: “We did not quarrel. We... became lovers.” 

For the space of several seconds, Arwen was rendered speechless. She stared at her brother as if he had grown two horns and a snout. And then, as what he said finally registered in full, she did the unexpected. 

“But that’s wonderful!” she cried. “I had despaired that you would ever make a move!” 

It was the twins’ turn to stare at her. 

“You – you knew?” Elrohir gasped. 

“How could I not know? Anyone who took the time to observe you would have known. You were so obvious in your regard for him, only a blind bat could not have seen it.” 

“Legolas did not,” Elladan pointed out. “Nor did _Ada_ and _Nana_ at first.” 

Arwen shrugged. “Well, of course they didn’t. The object of love seldom ever does. And parents are oft the last to know.” She smiled once more. “I am so happy for you, Elrohir. When will I get to call Legolas _gwanur_?” 

Alarm sprang into the twilight eyes. 

“Slow down, _muinthel_!”—sister—he exclaimed. “‘Tis too soon to even think of that. No words of love were spoken, much less of binding to one another.” 

“Why not?” Arwen frowned anew, her elation dissipating. “Do you not love him?” 

“In truth I do not know,” Elrohir answered honestly. 

“How can you not know?” Arwen queried in puzzlement. 

Elrohir sighed. “I know I love him as a friend. Of that I have no doubts. And he is as dear to me as you and Elladan are. But I am not certain I love him as... as our parents love each other. Desire is not... is not the same as love nor does it necessarily lead to love. I know I want him. But whether ‘tis more than just my body’s craving, I truly do not know... yet.” 

Elladan, himself wondering about his twin’s deepest feelings, prodded: “And if it is? What then?” 

Elrohir turned haunted eyes on him, making him wish he had not asked. 

“Then I am doomed to heartbreak,” he quietly said. “The Wood-elves of Mirkwood do not tread the ancient path.” 

“But Legolas yielded to you,” Arwen protested. “He has already returned to the path.” 

“Only because he wished to save our friendship.” Elrohir drew a pensive breath. “His reasoning accepts the old ways. His heart does not. ‘Tis no simple matter to turn one’s back on the beliefs of one’s land. Even more so for a prince of the realm who must uphold the laws and traditions of his father’s kingdom. I know not whether what I feel is true love; I know even less if Legolas can ever free his heart to love another _ellon_.”—male Elf. He glanced from Arwen to Elladan. He looked resigned. 

“Oh, Elrohir, I am so sorry,” Arwen said unhappily. “I truly thought...” She gazed at him with sisterly concern. “But surely, when you come together again, you will know and he will realize...” She broke off when he somberly shook his head. 

“I fear there will be no repeat of this blessing the Powers saw fit to bestow upon me,” he softly declared. “No second chance at such felicity. What sweet memories I gathered will have to suffice.” 

Elladan sighed in frustration. “I pray that when you do know your heart’s desire, ‘twill be within your reach, _gwanneth_ ”—younger twin—he said. “I do not wish to see you suffer grievously.” 

Elrohir smiled faintly. “I am stronger than you give me credit for, brother,” he said. “Do not worry overmuch on my account.” 

Arwen sniffed mournfully. “As though we can shut off our feelings so easily,” she pointed out. “We will worry about you whether you will it or not. At least, let us be of comfort to you should you need it one day.” 

Elrohir considered her gravely. Then, wordlessly, he drew both his brother and sister into a three-way embrace. They held close to each other, letting their sibling bond wash away the melancholy of the moment. 

“Thank you,” the Elf-knight whispered at length.

oOoOoOo

Mirkwood, _Ivanneth_ T.A. 1628  
Legolas glowered at the Elf-men practicing their archery and wrestling skills in the drill yard by the barracks of Northern Mirkwood. He did not glare out of anger towards the blameless warriors but rather out of confusion with himself. Nonetheless, whatever his reason, his baleful gaze unnerved the hapless _ellyn_ who had no idea how they had managed to displease their youngest prince so deeply particularly since he did not direct his ire at the warrior maids.

Legolas sighed fretfully. He had been studying the male Elves for nearly an hour now. Studying not only their fighting forms but their countenances and bodies as well. Not a ripple of lean muscle, a sweep of slender limbs or a flash of long tresses bound by tiny braids had escaped his eyes. Comely features, lithesome figures, graceful, battle-honed reflexes – he observed them all with a curious ferocity. And still found something missing, 

‘Why is it that I can feel nothing more for any of them?’ he fumed to himself, more out of bemusement and desperation than true ire. It was impossible that he was not drawn to one – not even one! – of these magnificent specimens of elven masculinity. 

Oh aye, he felt that familiar twinge and recognized it for what it really was now. He knew that the feeling had little to do with admiration or hero worship of a fellow male as he’d been led to believe. He understood that it was the same twinge he felt when confronted with a particularly delectable example of feminine pulchritude; that this reaction to either male or female-kind was one and the same. Pure physical attraction. 

That much he’d learned about his nature; of the nature of all his kindred that had been repressed and discouraged in his father’s kingdom for centuries uncounted. Repressed but never stamped out for not even the Valar could take away that which had been bestowed upon the Firstborn by the One himself. 

Legolas accepted this though he remained uncomfortable with it, lately come as he was to enlightenment. But like a true warrior, he sought to come to terms with his ambivalence regarding this new awareness of his own duality. Which is why he was standing at the edge of the exercise yard fiercely watching every male within sight with a mounting sense of frustration and perturbation. 

Why was it that he could only progress further in such feelings with the distaff side of Elfkind? Why did he not desire more intimacy with his own gender when the visceral attraction was clearly there? Baldly put, why did he not crave male-flesh as he did female? Except... He drew his breath in sharply. 

There it was again. That odd sensation in the pit of his stomach that surged forth whenever he remembered. And remember he did in vivid detail, every last one of them. He flushed of a sudden. Elbereth! The mere memories were enough to set him blushing!

More unsettled than before he’d come to the yard, he decided to leave before his confusion got any worse. If anything, watching Mirkwood’s male warriors had only served to muddle things further. It had only made the contrast between _him_ and them starker than ever and in the process served to confound the prince even more painfully than before. Exhaling heavily, he spun on his heel and briskly strode away. 

Nimeithel regarded his departure thoughtfully. She’d been watching her best friend, Lothrian, receive instructions in archery from the beauteous captain Tathariel. But her attention had been diverted by the noticeably increasing unease of the male warriors and, soon, by the cause of it. 

'What ails him?' she wondered. He’d looked ready to gut every _ellon_ in the vicinity. She let her gaze skim over the soldiers and felt mingled pity and amusement. They were all, to an Elf, patently shaken and bewildered and all too relieved to be freed of the ominous regard of the prince. 

'I think I should have a talk with him,' she decided. 'It will not do for him to subject them to such treatment and demoralize Father’s entire army in the process!' 

She came to his rooms in the early evening, hoping to catch him alone. He had left his door ajar and she peeked in to see if he was within. After a quick sweep of the chamber, she spotted him sitting outside upon the balustrade of his balcony. 

Legolas glanced up to catch his sister looking at him from door. He smiled and cocked his head to welcome her. Nimeithel joined him on his perch. 

“You are curious about something, _thel neth_ ”—young sister—he said with a grin. “You can barely restrain your tongue.” 

She grinned back. “You know me too well,” she conceded. "'Tis only that I have been watching you all day. You seem upset about something.” 

Legolas paused then shook his head. “Not so much upset as confused.” 

“By what?” When he did not reply at once, she ventured a guess. “Does it have anything to do with the way you regarded our warriors while they were training?” Legolas looked at her in surprise. “You were staring so balefully at them,” Nimeithel pointed out. “I fear you unnerved them and made them think you angry with them.” 

Legolas blew his breath out. “I did not realize I looked so fearsome.” He glanced at his sister and bit his lip. “They had naught to do with my confusion, though, in watching them, I have only increased it.” 

Nimeithel was more perplexed than ever. “Please, Legolas, you are confusing _me_. I want to help you if I can. Will you not tell me what this thing is that bothers you?” 

The prince heaved a sigh. He took his sister’s hand and clasped in tightly. “I pray this will not trouble you as well,” he said. “Nimeithel, when the twins were here, I discovered something about Elrohir.” He hesitated then soldiered on. “I learned that he had developed a... passion for me.” 

Nimeithel gaped at him. “Like the passion Sirgon felt for you?” 

Legolas was startled in turn. “You knew about that?” 

She shrugged. "'Twas not hard to see how he felt about you,” she said. “After he died, I asked _Ada_ about it and he confirmed my suspicions.” 

Legolas nodded. “I suppose he felt safe in telling you since nothing came of it,” he commented. “I did not return Sirgon’s desire.” 

“But Elrohir?” Nimeithel asked. “What came of that? He did not seem despondent when he left Mirkwood.” 

“You do not seem overly surprised by this.” 

“I have wondered about his feelings for you these past three centuries. They seemed more profound than I thought usual for a friend yet he was never as apparent as Sirgon was. I suspected but I could not be certain. And I did not dare broach the idea to anyone on a mere suspicion.” She gazed at her brother curiously. “You did not answer my question. Why was Elrohir not despondent?" 

Legolas gripped her hand even more tightly. “If he was not, ‘tis because I... I gave him his desire,” he whispered. 

Nimeithel’s jaw dropped even lower. “You what?” she half exclaimed. “Do – do you mean you – you coupled with him?” Legolas nodded. “But – but when?” 

“The week before they returned to Imladris.” 

Nimeithel wordlessly gazed at her brother for several moments. Finally, she stirred and asked, “Why? You have never sought intimacy with your kind, why did you give in to Elrohir?” 

“Because our friendship would have ended had I not yielded. My very presence hurt him. He was going to ensure that we never met again.” Legolas let go of her hand and folded his arms, trying to steady the sudden tremors therein. “I did not want to lose him. I could not.” 

Nimeithel’s eyes softened. “You truly care for him,” she mused. “But what is it that confuses you now?” 

"'Tis the feelings I had when I yielded to him,” Legolas admitted. “I enjoyed what he did to me. I did not think that possible.” 

“Why not?” Nimeithel remarked. At his startled reaction, she pressed on. “Oh, I know ‘tis not something encouraged here but if such is part of our nature then why should you not have responded to Elrohir?” 

“The twins had to explain that to me,” Legolas said, taken aback by her knowledge. “How did you come to know of this when I did not?” 

“ _Nana_ told me of the ancient ways before she passed away,” Nimeithel soberly told him. “Lothrian developed a desire for Tathariel, did you not notice?” Legolas shook his head mutely, jolted by the information. “She was distraught that she should feel thusly. We went to Mother for advice and she explained to us that such feelings were native to all Elves and that ‘tis only here in Mirkwood that these desires are discouraged.” She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Personally, I think it silly to forbid what is inherent in us. It cannot remain suppressed forever if the inclination is there and only causes so much pain for the ones who must conceal their feelings.” 

Legolas gazed at her with admiration and amazement. “My little sister,” he murmured. “Since when did you become so wise?” 

“I have always been wise,” she retorted. “But you were too mule-headed to admit it.” They shared a brief chuckle. Then she peered at him curiously. “Your response to Elrohir was not unnatural, _tôr iuar_ ”—older brother—she reasoned. “It should not bother you that you appreciated the attentions of another _ellon_.” 

Legolas shook his head ruefully. “That is not what bothers me alone. If I regarded the warriors so ruthlessly this morning ‘twas because I wanted to know if I could feel with anyone else what I felt with Elrohir. But I could not. Not even with the most attractive of the lot.” 

“And what did you feel with him?” 

“A rightness,” Legolas confessed. “A harmony I had thought possible only between a man and a woman.” 

Nimeithel’s eyebrows arched up in fascination. “Rightness? Harmony? You felt this with Elrohir?” 

“Aye.” He sighed. “At first I thought that I could feel nothing with the others because they could not compare to him in beauty and stature. ‘Tis what helped me endure our coupling, what allowed me to enjoy it.” 

“But…?” 

He smiled wanly at her prodding. “But then I considered that Elladan is as beautiful as his brother. If that was all that mattered, if it was only Elrohir’s comeliness that drew me, then I should feel that same rightness with Elladan as well.” 

“And you do not?” 

“That is what confuses me. Why do I feel as I do with Elrohir and not with any other Elf?” 

“Do-do you love him?” Nimeithel queried. “I mean, not as a friend but as a lover."

He shook his head. “What I did, I did for the sake of our friendship, nothing more. Besides, I am not ready to fall in love just yet. I have no wish to get entangled in all the problems and heartbreak that seem to accompany it.” 

“So you claim,” she replied. “But you cannot stop your heart once it recognizes its desire.” 

Legolas hesitated then said, “No matter the duality of our nature or my response to Elrohir, neither changes the fact that we were not raised to desire our own kind. I cannot conceive of mating with any other than an Elf-maid.” At her skeptical expression, he challenged: “Would you consider it for yourself?” 

Nimeithel pondered the question. Finally she said, “I have not felt such stirrings nor has any _elleth_ yet approached me thus even in secret. But were such to happen to me, I would open my heart and mind to it. I would embrace the truth, not deny it.” 

He gazed at her with muted admiration. “Then you are braver than I,” he remarked. 

“What is there to fear?” she asked matter-of-factly. “I would be more afraid of something forced upon me. But this is part of me; part of us.” She considered her brother thoughtfully. “What truly hinders you? Is it the thought of loving Elrohir that frightens you so?” 

Legolas stared at her. “I told you I am not ready to fall in love with anyone,” he insisted. “Much less my own friend and an _ellon_ at that!” 

“Yet you feel so strongly about him that it confounds you now and places you in turmoil.” 

“I do not know what I feel about Elrohir, I only know I can enjoy his touch. His and no other _ellon_ ’s it seems. But that is all I will concede.” 

His sister sighed. “You are as stubborn as a Dwarf, _tôr vell_ ”—dear brother—she declared. At his indignant glare, she put up her hand and said, ”I will not force the issue. But even you must admit he is special in that regard. The one Elf who can stir your blood even against your wishes.” 

Legolas considered the idea then nodded. “But if that is true, where will this change lead us?” 

“Only the Valar know,” she said with an encouraging smile. “At least, ‘tis Elrohir who causes your bemusement and he would never hurt you knowingly but only desire your happiness.” 

Legolas had to smile back. “True. He is still my friend, my closest and dearest one.” 

Seeing her brother’s tension dissipate somewhat, Nimeithel’s heart gladdened. She looked up at the twilight sky. The stars were just beginning to make their nocturnal appearance. 

“Look, ‘tis the twins’ grandsire, looking down upon us all,” she said. 

Legolas glanced up and saw bright Eärendil shining with singular clarity. He wondered if the Mariner watched over his twin grandsons in Rivendell. And the thought came to him that he, too, might now be included in the Mariner’s nightly regard. 

For the Elven prince’s life was irrevocably intertwined with that of Eärendil’s younger grandson in a way neither could have foreseen when they first met all those centuries ago beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great. 

***************************************  
Glossary:  
Yavannië - Quenya for September  
Ivanneth - Sindarin for September  
gwanur – ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman

_End of Part X._

**Author's Note:**

> _Part XI: In the Silence of Our Hearts - A jest inadvertently unearths an unsuspected past and sets the stage for an unlikely future._


End file.
